[ The second problem of sweet somethings is that they make her soften. Make her quieter, make her look at him with luminous eyes when she reaches up to touch the back of his hand with fingertips as light as his.

It might be easier if she hid it, but she won’t and so there is an awkwardness in her— a kind of held-breath hesitance, knowing sometimes she is a thing that can burn.

A moment, and then effervescent again: ]

Then next time I will track road dirt and deck scum all over your fine rug, and let my hair look as if the wind and I have only just had an energetic tumble.